The Dance
by TragicBlackButterfly
Summary: A songfic containing The Dance by Garth Brooks, Fakir muses how his hatred for Duck turned into something more.


**I'm in the mood for another Princess Tutu fic….so here it goes! This one has been in my head for about a week. The scene in the Lake of Despair is my favorite from the anime, and I felt this song suited it well…I hope you enjoy!**

**A/N: I don't own any characters from Princess Tutu or Garth Brooks' song.**

**The Dance**

_Looking back on the memory of _

_The dance we shared 'neath the stars above _

_For a moment all the world was right _

_How could I have known that you'd ever say goodbye _

Fakir didn't really understand when his opinion of the clumsy girl had changed so drastically. Before, he despised even the sight of Duck. She got in the way of his duty to protect Mytho, and she couldn't go five minutes without causing some sort of chaos. In the beginning, she didn't matter. She was just a moron who annoyed him.

He could recall dancing with her for the travelling ballet troupe. He shouldn't have volunteered that day; the idiot girl barely had the skill to stay on her feet, let alone dance ballet. He had to lead her the entire time, direct her sloppy technique, all the while reminding her that she needed to stay away from Mytho.

Mytho had been his priority. Even when he was a child, it was always Mytho. He had to protect the prince at all costs, and this Duck wouldn't get in his way. She didn't matter.

What a joke that had been.

_And now I'm glad I didn't know _

_The way it all would end, the way it all would go _

_Our lives are better left to chance _

_I could have missed the pain _

_But I'd have had to miss the dance _

His feelings for her changed so suddenly, he wondered if it happened over night. One day, she was an annoying girl trying to restore Mytho's heart and getting in Fakir's way. The next day, his heart felt heavy when he saw her. Without Duck's conviction and persuasion, he might have never picked up a pen again, and the story would have ended in tragedy. Suddenly, he had the urge to protect her. Protect her the way he protected Mytho all those years.

After all, Fakir couldn't do much for Mytho just then. Not while his heart was tainted with the blood of the Raven. He even raised his sword to Mytho, an action he normally would have never done. She stood by him through all that, through expulsion and through his self-discovery. It was her voice he heard that brought him back to the real world and her voice he longed to hear when Drosselmeyer stole her from Gold Crown.

She gave him the strength and courage to keep writing when he didn't think he could go on. Still…in the end, he wasn't able to keep her from getting hurt.

_Holding you, I held everything _

_For a moment wasn't I a king? _

_But if I'd only known how the king would fall _

_Hey who's to say? You know I might have changed it all _

When he went to Duck in the Lake of Despair, he found her crying. The story was coming to a close, and she would go back to being what she truly was. The idea almost shattered his own heart to pieces, but he smiled for her and held out his hand. After all, Fakir was a knight. Mytho's knight, _her_ knight, and he wouldn't let her fall into despair. He would protect her and guide her through the pain that they both were feeling. He didn't want the story to end, either.

That pas de deux was nothing special. Her technique was still terrible. She lacked the finesse and perfection that Tutu danced with, but he didn't mind. Fakir loved every moment of it, cherished each ungraceful step. He adored the way she smiled and how her eyes lit up when he promised to remain by her side. He carried her in his strong arms, leading her until he convinced her not to give up.

Part of his heart broke when the pendant—that extraordinary, wonderful pendant that allowed her to become Tutu and remain a girl—dropped from around her neck. She caught it, stared at it, and smiled. He smiled as well. Their goal was within their reach; they could finally save Mytho give the story a happy ending.

Even so, through their smiles and promises, he never wanted that dance to end.

_And now I'm glad I didn't know _

_The way it all would end the way it all would go _

_Our lives are better left to chance _

_I could have missed the pain _

_But I'd have had to miss the dance _

Fakir promised her forever. No matter what, he would stay by her side forever. He never thought about what that would do to him in the long run. He spent hour after hour with her beside the lake, writing until his fingers were blackened with ink and the sun no longer gave him light enough to see. Duck was all he could write about; she was all he could ever write about. Even when Mytho needed him to write a good ending, all his fingers would form were words about her, whether she was a duck, a girl, or Princess Tutu.

He would glance at the duck as he wrote, curious. Did she miss being a girl? That seemed like a stupid question. _He_ missed her being a girl. Her eyes were the same, and even her voice hadn't changed (after all, she had always sounded rather like a duck). He wanted to hold her again, cradle her in his arms as they danced a pas de deux the way they had in the Lake of Despair. He devoted page after page to quietly devising a way to return her to her human form, while she dozed in the pond without knowing. He didn't want to get her hopes up, not when the only direction his own hopes could go in was down. He never stopped writing, though. He _needed_ to write now…for her and for himself.

_Yes my life, it's better left to chance _

_I could have missed the pain _

_But I'd have had to miss the dance_

Fakir meant it when he promised to remain by her side forever. He was all she had in the world, and Fakir often wondered if she was all he had anymore. His life in Gold Crown felt far-off and unimportant. A small duck was the center of his world. A duck that couldn't speak or laugh or dance anymore, whose life was much shorter than that of a human. Fakir kept his the point of his pen against a sheet of paper, writing and writing until he couldn't anymore. He would hear her quacking at him that it was time to go home, or he couldn't see in the dark. Whatever the case, Fakir's day always ended the same way. He would pick her up, tuck her under his arm, and carry her back home. Tomorrow was another day that he could spend devising a way to return duck to her human form.

In the meantime…Fakir could always think of their dance.


End file.
